


Mist Opportunity

by ganbarimaster



Series: Jinzula [4]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Boats and Ships, Death, Gen, Imprisonment, Pirates, Sailing, Undead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 12:31:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20948390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ganbarimaster/pseuds/ganbarimaster
Summary: On her continued journey of self-discovery, Jinzula confronts a figure from her past, but things take a turn for the worse. There are more frightening things at sea than cutthroats and pirates.





	Mist Opportunity

It was frightfully cold, which meant the manacles around her ankles were colder still. Even when they did not touch her flesh, there was yet a hot pain where she had been shackled. This was a situation she had hoped was long behind her. Jinzula was not particularly savvy when it came to navigating the seas or orientating herself, but the climate spoke of a northern approach. She knew precious little about Pendleton’s business as a privateer, only that the distance between piracy and his profession was as short as the distance between any gnome and a wrench. There had been heightened voices bickering about this and that beyond the confines of her cell, but it had all been muffled and unintelligible. A few days had passed, and she had been fed. There was one guard assigned to providing the meals and keeping watch—a younger human boy with whiskers on his chin. Simon was his name. He had taken to regaling Jinzula with tales of his grand ambition. _It’s just a means to an end, you know._ He would say. _I’ve got my sights set much higher than Captain Rosemont, that’s for sure._ Was what he claimed, but the heady heights he envisioned seemed to amount to little more than having his own boat and docking at any port he feels like. _Alliance and Horde, we’re all the same really. I don’t mind trolls. But I’m not “into” them—just in case you had any funny ideas!_ This would be when he would wink and laugh. _I’d let you out of here, if I was the captain._

Another day or so passed before Pendleton finally graced her with his presence. 

“Simon, is she awake?” Said the Captain, trying to sound as disinterested as possible.  
“Yes, Captain!”  
“Well. Open the cell.”

The skinny boy scrambled at the large key chain hanging from his waist, trying a few of the wrong keys before getting the right one.  
“Got it!” he exclaimed in celebration.

Pendleton offered little more than an annoyed tut in response, side-stepping through the narrow cell door frame. He stood a short distance from Jinzula, his legs wide apart, fingers hooked into his the loops of his belt. 

“I don’t suppose you still have my spyglass?”

She spat at him, but he was just far away enough that it couldn’t reach.

“You really have become a _troll_ haven’t you? For all the ways in which we cultured you, you’re still just a wild thing. A failed experiment, it should seem. I don’t know why my beloved brother bothered with you.”

He took her measure, his beady eyes wandering here and there, as if appraising an antique or a hunting dog. A hard scowl was etched into her features. She had cut her hands where the nails had been digging into her palms. 

“And yet we’ve treated you well, have we not? I haven’t laid a finger on you since you arrived, even though I could have. That’s because _I’m_ a gentleman.” Pendleton claimed, with smug satisfaction, as if this was something to be proud of.

Jinzula noticed young Simon studying the cell keys carefully, admonishing himself. It seemed as though he was trying to memorize which key was which. Presumably one of them was the key to her shackles. Pendleton continued to speak, but she had stopped listening. There was a thin mist slowly spilling in through a porthole across from her cell. It didn’t seem natural. 

“Well, actually, Baron Wadsworth might not be as kind as I am, but the price for your apprehension was _quite_ considerable...”

Pendleton hesitated. He seemed perturbed.

“Why aren’t we moving?” He barked at Simon, who tensed up at the sudden change of tone.

The mist had creeped into the room and had covered the floor. It carried a terrible, pungent odour, like decomposing seaweed.

“Kvaldir!”

Came the cry from the upper deck. Captain Rosemont drew his sword and made for the stairs. 

“Watch her. _Carefully._” 

Was the command he gave to her young jailor. Simon had been frozen on the spot before suddenly bursting to action, scrambling at his key chain. It would easily have spilled from his fingers had it not been attached to his belt. He was shaking with adrenaline as the sound of battle could clearly be heard: inhuman battle cries, rifles being fired, steel crashing against steel. A horn sounded. They had already been boarded. 

Kvaldir. Jinzula had heard of them during her studies at the library in the Rosemont Estate, but they were mostly spoken of in legend. Fairy tales to frighten children. They were, if the books spoke true, the spirits of the vrykul—huge warriors, wild men of the north, more than twice the size of the average human. If she thought her treatment at the hands of Pendleton had been harsh, there was doubtless worse in store with the Kvaldir. If she even survived this encounter.

Simon, her pitiful jailer, was in a panic. Sweat was dripping from his brow and his eyes flitted between the stairwell and Jinzula. His fingers were rattling around as he quickly closed the cell door, but then struggled to insert the key. This was her chance. And she took it. Simon let out a high-pitched scream as the hard metal door frame slammed into his face. In a flash she was on top of him, the chain connecting her cuffs pressed down onto his windpipe. Blood was dripping from his nose and his left eye was starting to swell up. He stank of sweat and his hot breath was rancid, like old milk.

“Release me and you live.” Jinzula said.

As soon as she gave the command he somehow found the wherewithal to quickly locate the correct key for her cuffs. He sniffled and wept as he unlocked them, a truly pathetic sight. As Jinzula then collected her belongings from a nearby trunk, Simon held his knees to his chest and wailed. 

“Shut. Up!” 

She spat through her teeth, trying not to raise her voice. But he continued to cry. She could still hear the guttural, unearthly cries of the Kvaldir and the distinctive sounds of a scuffle, but it was beginning to die down. If they heard Simon, they’d find her and then they’d both be dead—or worse. Kneeling down beside Simon, she concealed a dagger in her right hand as she cradled his head in her left. His face was bruised and even more swollen than it had been before. He almost looked like a Hallow’s End pumpkin. She shushed him, bringing him into her embrace. With a soft sigh she brought the dagger into the back of his neck. He twitched for a few moments, longer than she would have liked, before going limp. _This was a kindness._ Jinzula thought. She closed his eyes and then made for the stairs. 

Deftly ducking behind a crate, Jinzula watched as one of the giant Kvaldir took Pendelton by the throat and held him over the port side of the ship. A thick mist filled the air, but she could see that the sails were alight and that the deck was strewn with the broken bodies of Pendleton’s crew. There were also numerous piles of stinking, slimy seaweed and old, tattered rags scattered about, the very same materials which covered the bodies of the dreadful Kvaldir themselves. She took a moment to assess the situation: a small number of Kvaldir stood on the deck of Pendleton’s ship, either watching the Captain meet his fate, or finishing off his crewmen. The deck of the Kvaldir vessel itself seemed to be clear of people from what she could see, but it barely looked seaworthy—the sails were pocked with holes and the wood was cracked and falling apart. Nevertheless, Jinzula scurried over to one pile of the sticky green detritus nearby, and took a deep breath before covering herself in as much of the rotting seaweed as she could stomach. Choosing her moments carefully, she escaped the attention of the lumbering undead beasts to sneak onto their large vessel and find a quiet corner to hide in. But there were no steps to her plan beyond this one. What mattered was that she was still alive. And from the sound of things, it seemed as though Pendleton Rosemont was not.


End file.
